Page 1 of Billionaire's Second Chance

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Ava

In.

I sucked air through my nostrils.

Out.

I exhaled from my mouth.

The aim was to release the familiar knot tightened in my stomach. Pre-audition jitters, my friend and now agent, Greg, called it. I had done it—get the script, rehearse, hit the gym to look the part, audition, then lose the role to some Hollywood bimbo—enough times to be routine, and rather than getting accustomed to the jitters, I felt them more intensely each time.

My fingers traced the script on my lap.

“You can do this, Ava,” I muttered.

And you might not.

I bit my lip and sighed. It had been three years since I graduated from Columbia, and I hadn’t found my big break yet. Just a few movies that never made it to the big screen and truckloads of false hopes.

Hollywood was a city of dreams and broken promises, where talent alone was never enough. Instead, connections and luck often dictated success, and I should have known better.

Incoherent words filtered into my ears. I roused myself back to the present. Were we there already?

“The dress suits you,” the Uber driver said, running his stubby fingers through his sandy-brown hair.

“Oh,” I glanced at my outfit. Yellow wasn’t my go-to dress color, nor was red lipstick my favorite, but I was in character today. “Thank you.”

The Uber driver still stole glances at me—quick ones, followed by momentary peers through the rearview mirror. I looked at my neckline, then back at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were blue, but unlike mine, they were daring and glinted with excitement.

“Anything the matter?" I asked him bluntly.

He cleared his throat and turned his eyes back to the road. "I apologize for staring, but I could swear I've seen you somewhere before.”

I adjusted in my seat and feigned a smile. “I doubt that.”

“You’re an actress, right?” He looked into the rearview mirror again.

I rolled my eyes.

He forced a nervous chuckle. “I mean, you look like one.”

Typical.

The age-long assumption was that every beautiful blonde in LA was a model or a movie star. Well, if soon-to-be stars counted, he was right.

“I’m an actress,” I nodded in agreement.

“I knew it. I must have seen you in a movie,” he exclaimed. “Weren’t you in that movie?Hallowed Heights.”

Not only had I been in that movie, butHallowed Heightswas also one of the blotches I wished I could airbrush from history. Still, my skin crawled with excitement. I had been recognized for a movie I starred in. Maybe Greg was right. Maybe I did have a camera-worthy face after all.

“Yeah, I was.” I smiled timidly. “You saw it?”

“Yes,” he said.

I grinned. “What did you think of the ending?”

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